In the dusty upper garret of the Royal Geographical Society, Silas Verne kept thirty-six portfolios bound in sheepskin that no proctor or visiting fellow had ever inspected. While the lower galleries displayed copperplate maps of the Thames and the Mediterranean, Silas worked exclusively with ink ground from crushed lapis and rain caught during equinoctial storms.
'A map that never changes,' Silas was fond of saying to his apprentice, 'is not a portrait of nature, but a tombstone for curiosity.'